“We’re in a hurry. Are you in on the rush? Why, what’s the matter?”
“The rush?” said Tom dizzily. “I—I don’t know. I’ve been on the trail—lost. Can you give me something to eat?”
The man stared, darted back to his outfit, and returned in a moment with a large lump of bread and a slice of meat.
“Here,” he said. “Eat this. We can’t stop. There’s a big gold discovery in the next township, and everybody’s on the dead run for it. Stop here, and you’ll see lots of fellows pass. You’re all right now. Want anything else? Well, so long!”
And the prospecting party rushed into the woods, leaving Tom ravenously devouring the food. It gave him new life. When he had eaten it he lay back and rested luxuriously, feeling sleepy. He was near the mining-camps at last, and hope flowed back into him.
Within ten minutes another bateau came up and landed a little below him, and its crew vanished in the woods without noticing him. Close behind that boat came another, its occupants singing and shouting in French, as if on a lark.
Tom got up and went down the shore, where the boats seemed to land. But it was nearly an hour before he saw another party. Then two men came by in a canoe, paddling fast, scarcely giving a glance to the boy on the shore. They were almost past when Tom saw clearly the face of the man in the stern, and he gasped as if he had been hit by a bullet.
“Dave!” he exclaimed.
He was not heard. He shouted again, and fired his rifle in the air.
“Dave Jackson! Cousin Dave!” he yelled.